


Marzipan Dildos and Other Useless Things

by Malana



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malana/pseuds/Malana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My various TTOI drabbles and flash fiction. These have been written over the course of the series, so expect spoilers for just about everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Things We Do to People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's thoughts while being questioned at the Inquiry.

“Mr. Tucker, I’ll ask you one more time: how did you acquire the medical records."

Even with everyone in the room watching him, he imagines he can feel her stare in particular. Her silently willing him to change his answer.

They’d gone ten rounds the night before. Her alternatively yelling, begging, and threatening him. But he wasn’t going to budge.

She had always been there for him. Always. The one person that he knew he’d be able to count on, no matter what.

She shouldn’t have done it, of course. But she had known that, and had done it anyway. For him. She’d compromised her ethics for him. Because she thought it was what he would have done. And it was. And that just about broke his heart.

She was young. She still had a future. He wasn’t about to let the taint of this - the taint of him - hurt her.

He learned forward across the table.

"Yeah, I can’t recall."


	2. Desktop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan/Sam smut. Set right after Dan took over from Nicola.  
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ACTUAL SMUT. NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone over at the TTOI Kink Meme requested Dan/anyone: Dan breaking in his new desk. 
> 
> I am not a smut writer, and this was a prompt-fill so it isn’t super-polished. But here it is.

"This is a bad idea."

Dan smiled as he pushed his companion up against his office door, reaching behind her to lock it. “I’m afraid I have to disagree. In fact, as Party Leader, I believe this is an excellent idea." It was early morning, and they were the only ones in the office.

Sam giggled and took ahold of Dan’s tie, beginning to undo it. “Is ‘as Party Leader’ going to preface everything you do now?"

"I like your thinking. As Leader, I’m going to kiss you here," he brushed his lips across hers. "And here." He nipped at her ear. "As Leader I am also going to kiss you here." He trailed a line of kisses down her throat, as he pushed her suit jacket down off her shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

Sam closed her eyes and leaned back against the door. “What else are you going to do, Mr. Leader?" she asked, a low purr in her voice.

He pretended to consider it. “Hmm, alone in the early morning hours with a beautiful woman in an otherwise empty office…No, I just can’t think of a single thing."

She playfully pushed him away. “Well, I guess I’ll just go back to work, then." 

She turned and made as if to leave. He caught her arm and spun her back around, pinning her against the door once again. 

"Oh, wait. I have thought of something," he said as he pressed his body against hers. He lightly ran his fingers up one of her exposed arms, causing a shiver to run down her spine. 

Sam thrust her hips forward, grinding against Dan’s prominent erection. He grinned before capturing her lips in a punishing kiss. 

"Someone’s an eager girl this morning."

"We are sort of pressed on time," she reminded him, wrapping one leg around his waist. 

"Well then. I guess as Leader, I better take swift action." He drew her other leg up as well, easily carrying her weight. All those squash games didn’t serve only as a way to form political alliances.

As he sat her down on the edge of his, her hands fumbled to undo his belt. The task was made slightly more difficult given the distraction of his strong hand on her thigh, pushing up her skirt, while his other was under her blouse, his thumb rubbing roughly over her nipple as he cupped her breast, causing her to let out a moan. 

She finally succeeded in undoing his belt and pushing his trousers to the floor, when she was further distracted by the hand that had moved the flimsy material of her panties aside, and the long finger that Dan had pushed inside of her. As he ran his thumb is teasing circles over her clit, she closed her eyes, her back arching as she grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands. He added another finger, enjoying the way her breath hitched as he moved them faster and faster. 

Sam moved her hands to his waist, hooking her thumbs into the elastic band of his boxers, and pushing them to the floor. He let out a low groan of pleasure when she took him in her hand, gently stroking him as her other hand went around the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. She captured his lower lip with her teeth, grinning at the sound it elicited from him. 

"Fuck me," she whispered breathily into his ear. 

He was happy to oblige. He withdrew his fingers from inside her, licking them clean as he positioned himself and slowly pushed into her dripping wet entrance. 

She had already been on the edge of orgasm from his fingers, and as he began to thrust into her harder and faster, her legs tightened around him. She bit her lip, trying to not cry out as his hand returned to her clit once again.

She buried her face into his neck, her nails digging into his shoulders as his pace continued to increase. She bucked her hips, matching him thrust for thrust as they both neared climax. Feeling her begin to clench tightly around him sent Dan over the edge, and he let out a cry as the came together.  
"Mmm," he said after taking a moment to catch his breath. “I could definitely get used to this Party Leader thing."  
She laughed, swatting him on the shoulder as she scooted off the edge of the desk and onto her feet, her legs still a little shaky, her thighs aching pleasantly. “Come on, people are going to be in any minute. You’re all mussed, and I must look a mess."

"You look ravishing," he said, kissing her on the top of her head.

"Ravished, more like"

She fixed her skirt and re-buttoned her top, before grabbing a compact and working on her hair and her smudged make-up.

Sam was just helping Dan straighten his tie when a familiar voice rang out.

"Dan!"

"Shit," Sam swore quietly as the door handle rattled. “Malcolm."

She glanced down at herself one more time to make sure her clothes were all in place as Dan strode over and unlocked the door. 

"Morning, Malcolm," Dan said with a smile as the other man looked between the two of them, confusion on his face. 

"Sam was just making sure I’d gotten the latest changes from you on the Paxman interview this afternoon," Dan explained.

"Why was the door locked?" Malcolm asked, a hint of suspicion evident in his voice. Sam just shrugged as Dan shook his head. 

"No idea," Dan said calmly. “I must have done it by accident."

Malcolm continued to eye them both, and Sam gave a bright smile. “Well, I think Dan’s all set, so I should get back to my desk." She called over her shoulder  
as she left, “Malcolm, don’t forget you’ve got Julius at 10."

That was enough to distract Malcolm. As Sam walked away she could hear Malcolm loudly voicing his thoughts on Dan’s decision to bring Nicholson back into the fold. She let out a sigh of relief. That had been closer than she had liked. They really needed to start being more careful.


	3. Lunch Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Jamie/Sam fluff

“I feel like I’m skiving off school," Sam said with a giggle.

"Calm down, love. We’re just taking a wee lunch."

"I never take a lunch, Jamie, and neither do you. I eat at my desk in between phone calls, and you…well, you seem to mainly subsist on cigarettes and coffee."

Jamie grinned at her. “Dinnae forget the anger an’ bile. Those are important parts of a balanced diet."

Sam shook her head as she waited for Jamie to open the door to his apartment. “Well, considering we’re at your place, we probably should have picked up some food on the way if we actually wanted to eat."

Jamie raised an eyebrow as he held the door open, and gestured Sam inside. “Luckily, I can think of several better ways tae use this time." He grabbed her around the waist, kicking the door closed behind him as he half-carried, half-dragged her to the bedroom.


	4. Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie decides to do some baking to surprise Malcolm. Sam watches.

"I’d just like it noted for the record that I think this is a spectacularly bad idea."

Jamie glared at Sam as she sat, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. “Oi! That’s enough of that! If you aren’t going to help you can keep your fucking mouth shut."

Sam raised her eyebrows, watching as Jaime unpacked his shopping bags. “Do you even know how to cook?"

"How hard can it be to follow a fucking recipe? Despite the rumors you may have heard, I’m not actually feral. I can read and follow directions."

"You didn’t even have pans," Sam pointed out. “You had to buy a cake tin. And a mixing spoon. Who doesn’t own a spoon?"

"Shut up."

"You do know that poisoning Malcolm doesn’t actually make for the best birthday present, right?"

"Did I not just say shut up?" Jamie pointed a knife if her direction. “You know, people normally fucking listen to me when I tell them to shut up, as they know if they don’t it will usually be swiftly followed up by me ripping off their fucking tongues and shoving them up their arseholes."

Sam just smiled. “Well, first of all, when have I ever listened when you told me to shut up? And secondly, you don’t look especially threatening when wearing an apron. Which, by the way, still has the price tag on."

"You know, you’re really not very nice. You fool people into thinking you’re this sweet nice girl, but you’re actually quite the bitch." 

Sam laughed. “Yes, but people think I’m nice so they tend to do what I ask."

Jamie shot her a fierce grin. “People usually do what I ask, too. Fear of dismemberment and anal rape can be quite the motivator."

"True," Sam conceded, “but I imagine fewer people will celebrate when I die."

"No one will cheer my death for fear that I will rise from the dead and seek further fucking retribution."

Jaime glared down at the recipe in front of him. It was possible that he should have started with something easier. Like boxed cake mix. But Malcolm’s mam said that this was Malcolm’s favorite, so this was what Jamie was going to make. 

"Could you stop smirking and help me?"

"Was that a genuine request for help from Jamie MacDonald?"

"I’m sometimes not sure why I don’t violently murder you."

"Because the sex is good and doing so would piss Malcolm off?"

"Just fucking help me!" Jamie demanded. 

With a sigh, Sam hopped down from the counter and stood next to Jamie, giving him a quick peck on cheek, mostly to annoy him. 

"Just give me that recipe," she said. “I’ll show you what to do."


	5. How Do You Solve a Problem Like Dan Miller?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie has a plan for dealing with Dan Miller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the whole "Dan Miller cabal" thing at the end of season 3. With added Jamie. Because: Jamie.

Sam folded her arms over her chest and glared at Jamie. 

"No. No way."

"Yes. Fucking goddamned yes. It’s not that big of a deal, is it?" Jamie asked.

"Not that big of a deal? Prostituting myself out to Dan Miller isn’t that big of a deal? I’d say it’s rather a big fucking deal, myself."

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, pet. I’m not actually saying you need to fuck him. Just make him think you might fuck him."

"Jamie, Dan Miller may be a prick—"

Jamie cut her off, “Dan Miller is a massive fucking cunt of a prick!"

"Yes, but he’s not stupid!" Sam said. “If I suddenly appear all flirtatious and whatnot, and just happen to start digging for information to take down the cabal, do you not think he might work out what I’m up to?"

Jamie waved a dismissive hand. “Not it you do it right! He thinks with his cock like everyone else. Just make it seem like you’re trying to secure a place for yourself in a possibly post-Malcolm future. Just go over there with your big innocent eyes and your breasts and make him think you’re looking for a big strong man to protect you."

"You really are as horrible as everyone thinks you are, aren’t you?" Sam asked in a huff.

Jamie grinned. “Actually, I’m much worse. Come on, Sam. Do it for Malcolm."

"Do what for Malcolm?"

Sam and jamie both turned to see Malcolm standing in the doorway. Jamie stared at Sam, silently willing her to keep her mouth shut about their conversation.

"Oh, nothing," Sam said airily. “Jamie’s just trying to whore me out in a attempt to destroy the cabal."

Seeing the look on Malcolm’s face, Jamie hurried to clarify. “Aw, I didn’t try to whore her out, Malc. I just thought she could maybe flirt with Miller. Just a little. Try to get some sort of info we could use."

Malcolm glared daggers at him. “Jamie, we’ve had this conversation before. Ollie Reeder is one thing, but we do not whore out Sam!"

"Well, excuse me for trying to save all our jobs!" Jamie spat.

"It’s not that I don’t want to help," Sam explained. “But I’m not getting pulled into one of your schemes."

"Fine," Jamie spat. “I’ll fucking do it myself."

"You’re going to seduce Dan Miller?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"Why not? The ponce’ll go for anyone that compliments his squash game."

Malcolm sighed and walked over to Jamie, reaching out to straighten the other man’s tie and fuss with his hair. “Well, at least don’t go over there looking like you spent the night in a box fighting with fucking rats for scraps of food."

"There," Malcolm continued after a moment. “You look slightly less unpresentable now."

With another glare at Sam and Malcolm, Jamie stalked out of the room, letting out a long stream of curses and slamming the door behind him.

"Do you really think that’s a good idea, Malcolm?" Sam asked.

Malcolm shrugged. “Either it’ll work or Jamie will kill Dan out of embarrassment for having failed, so we’re probably good either way. And if nothing else, it’ll keep the wee man busy for an hour or so. Come on, let’s get to work."

Sam nodded, then frowned. “Wait, what did you mean when you said you’d had the conversation about whoring me out before?"


	6. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Jamie can't let Steve Fleming win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Malcolm's first ouster.

Even smart girls occasionally make ludicrously stupid decisions. It was a series of such decisions that lead Sam to her current predicament: pressed up against the wall of a dimly lit pub, her skirt riding high-up on her legs, Jamie’s rough hand on her thigh pushing it up even higher. 

The first stupid step down this road was going to the pub in the first place. But Malcolm fucking Tucker had been overthrown, what else was she supposed to do? One week of working for Fleming and she wanted to kill him with a rusty razor blade. 

Sam wasn’t sure if he had somehow tracked her down, or she simply had the worst luck in the world in picking pubs, but she was only on her second drink when a familiar figure sat down on the stool next to her. 

"Fuckin’ Christ, pet. Is that a fucking cosmo?"

"Leave me alone, Jaime. I’m trying to get drunk."

"No. Un-fucking-acceptable. When Superman gets killed by Elmer Fudd, you don’t drink cosmos." Jamie motioned for the bartender, asking for two glasses and a bottle of Scotch. 

Sam stopped glaring at him long enough to roll her eyes. “Did you just call Malcolm Superman? I mean, I knew you had a bit of a hero worship thing going on but-"

"Shut it, Barbie, or I won’t give you any of my Scotch."

"I don’t want any of your Scotch!" Sam protested.

"Bullshit," Jamie said, pouring a glass and pushing it in front of her before filling one for himself. “You are going to drink that if I have to pry open your mouth and pour it down your pretty little throat myself. You are going to drink that because the great bastard isn’t picking up his phone or answering his doorbell, which means you and are I going to have to take down that bald little moustached piece of cock-shit ourselves. And I do not make plans for world-domination with little girls who drink cosmopolitans."

Sam looked at him levelly for a long moment. Without breaking eye-contract, she picked up her glass and downed it in one go. She managed to only wince slightly as she slammed the glass back down on the bar top. 

"Cheers." 

Jamie grinned and swallowed his own drink, then poured two more.

An hour later and they’d moved to a table in the back to better work on their plans. Of course, after half a bottle of Scotch they weren’t making plans so much as concocting elaborate torture scenarios for Fleming. 

Sam had just finished outlining one that included both a spear gun and a lemon juice/Tabasco sauce filled enema when she realized that Jamie was smiling at her. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. This wasn’t the feral sort of grin usually seen on Jamie right before he ripped your throat out with his teeth. This was, she realized with no small amount of amazement…genuine.

If she had been sober, she might have found it worrying. But through the alcohol-fueled haze she was currently experiencing, she was disarmed enough to realize it was actually quite a nice smile. The kind of smile a woman would be happy to see on a handsome man sitting across from her at a bar. 

That single thought was almost, almost, enough to bring her back to sobriety. Thinking of Jamie as a handsome man was headed down a path that could absolutely not lead to anything other than trouble. And possibly a dead body or two.

"You have an unexpected level of maliciousness that is quite charming." 

Sam blinked in surprise. “Was that a compliment?" 

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well it can’t all be kitten-raping and nun-stabbing, Sam. A man needs a broader repertoire. I can also build cabinets and I bake a mean chocolate cake."

Sam shook her head slightly. “A man of unexpected talents."

Jamie’s smile grew wider. “You don’t know the half of it," he said with a suggestively raised eyebrow.

Sam’s heart nearly stopped in her chest. Jamie MacDonald. Jamie fucking MacDonald, Malcolm’s insane, foul, rapid attack-dog was flirting with her. This was a turning point. Even drunk she realized that. This was the time when a smart Sam, a sober Sam would make her excuses and go the hell home. Continuing down this road was beyond stupid. But looking at him right then, she couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.

A slow smile crossing her face, Sam licked her lips before raising an eyebrow of her own. “Well then, Mr. MacDonald, why don’t you enlighten me?"


	7. Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluffy Malcolm/You fic that sane people will probably skip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The-Crazy-Geek prompted me: : Malcolm has a pair of silk pyjamas and his lover (or lovers, whoever you want!) love it when he wears them.
> 
> I’ve never written in the 2nd person before, but I though this sort of cried out for it. It’s not a direct fill of the prompt, but hopefully it’ll do.
> 
> (I did some googling to see how much you could send on pajamas, and found these. http://www.derek-rose.com/sleepwear/mens/mens-pyjamas/woburn-8-black-pyjamas.html Dear god, the mental image….)

There’s something about Malcolm Tucker in silk. 

You get the pyjamas for him as a Christmas gift. But, if you’re honest, they are just as much a present for you as they were for him. 

It is an impulse buy. A silly little luxury. (Well, not that little. You could have gotten a half-way decent suit for the same price.) Something to pamper him. 

Malcolm always wears top-of-the-line suits, but that was mostly for work. When it comes to life outside of the job, he doesn’t always take care of himself. He simply doesn’t have the time. 

So, you like to do it for him. You are busy as well, of course. Even in Opposition, the hours are long and the work is draining. But he is worth skipping a lunch or two for. A beautiful straight razor, a pair of super-soft slippers, a bottle of the cologne he favored. You enjoy spoiling him. And he reciprocates. 

When you see the pyjamas in the department store (while looking for a pair of kid gloves for Jamie-NOT made of actual fucking kids) you cannot resist. They are the darkest of grays with black pinstripes. Cut like a tailored suit. The silk is so buttery it practically melts under your touch. 

You close your eyes, picturing Malcolm wearing them. The price tag is enough to make you wince, but then you imagine them running your hands along them. Along him. And finally, you picture them pooled at his feet. 

The daydream alone is worth the price. You can’t wait to see what the reality is like. 

Happy Christmas, indeed.


	8. SIck Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has the flu.

Sam had missed two days of work since she started working for Malcolm. One of her Great Aunt Muriel’s funeral, and one when she was getting a cast put on her ankle, after a nasty fall down the stairs. Actually, that second one had only been half a day, as she fell while was was running to grab lunch. 

Other than that, she was always at her desk first thing in the morning, always there to be Malcolm’s right hand whenever and wherever he might need her. It didn’t matter that they were no longer in government; she was as dedicated to her job as ever. 

Luckily, she didn’t get sick very often. It was rather surprising really, considering the stress of the job and the long hours (though one nice thing about not being in power was that the three o’clock in the morning phone calls were far less frequent.) And, when she was feeling poorly, she just came in anyway. She’d worked through migraines and stomach bugs, and on a few occasions some truly dire hangovers after being dragged out drinking by Jamie (including one memorable occasion when she was reluctant to go out, where the dragging was quite literal and accompanied by a flurry of threats of bodily harm.)

Which is why, although she’s shivering under three layers of clothes, has red, watery eyes, and the waste bin at her desk is brimming with used tissues, the idea of having stayed home never even occurred to her. 

"Bloody Christ, love."

Sam looked up from her desk to see Malcolm standing in the doorway, staring at her. 

"Morning, Malcolm," she said, her voice low and raspy.

"Did you cross through the seven circles of Hell on your way to work this morning?"

Sam glared at him, but quickly had to stop to blow her nose. "It’s not that bad," she protested between sniffles. 

"Not that bad? It’s 23 degrees in here, and your wearing a wooly jumper and a scarf!"

"I’ve just got a bit of a cold."

"You’re sweating and shivering at the same time! That’s not a sign of good heath!"

"I’m fine," she insisted, then doubled over in a fit of coughing. 

Malcolm was at her side in an instant, rubbing her back and handing her his cup of tea.

"Look, pet, I admire your dedication, I really do. But you can’t come to work with the plague, okay? I’m calling Jamie, he’ll take you home and get you into bed."

Sam shook her head weakly. “No. No. I just need to close my eyes for a minute. Then I’ll be okay. Just wake me up in 10 minutes. No. Five minutes."

Malcolm rolled his eyes and patted her hair as Sam laid her head down on the desk, groaning softly. “Sure, Sam, sure."

Malcolm quickly strode into his inner office and closed the door, pulling out his phone as he did so. 

"Oi, Jamie!" he barked. “Come to my office and take your girlfriend home before she drops over dead. Oh, and take her out by way of Reeder’s desk, see if you can get her to cough on him. If I’m going to have to do without Sam for a day or two, I might as well get some enjoyment out of it."


	9. Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm gets a surprise worse than a 'cunt' cake.

"What the fuck is this?"

It’s not that it’s unusual to hear that particular shout coming from Malcolm’s office. But the fact that Malcolm sounds more confused than angry caught Sam’s attention. 

Malcolm was suddenly standing in front of her desk, holding what looked for all the world to be a pink frilly heart.

"Sam!" Malcolm demanded. “What is this?"

Sam bit her lip. “It looks like a valentine."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “I know it’s a valentine, Sam. The pink lace and the heart did tip me off, as did the words printed on it saying ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ in fucking-gold-fucking-filigree. The question is how the hell this monstrousity found its way to to my desk. It’s like something that would have been thrown-up by Cupid’s dog after eating a box full of glitter-coated cat shit."

Sam had to struggle to keep from smiling. “I really don’t know, Malcolm. Someone must have slipped it in with the rest of your mail."

Sam really, really wished that she had found it before Malcolm did. She would have quietly disposed of it, therefore completely avoiding the situation they currently found themselves in.

"So you have no idea who sent it?"

"Maybe you have a secret admirer ?" Sam suggested. She immediately regretted it when she saw the wild look in Malcolm’s eyes. 

"I do not have fucking secret fucking admirers, Sam! I do not get bloody Valentine’s Day cards. Not unless they are quite literally dripping with actual literal blood. Poisoned box of sweets, sure. Or maybe a dead puppy or two. But I do not get valentines!"

Sam nodded meekly. “Yes, Malcolm."

"I’m going to find out who sent this, Sam. WE are going to find out who sent this!" With that, Malcolm stalked back into his office, slamming the door him.

Sam stared at the closed door, letting out a sigh. It was going to be a very long day.


End file.
